


Clarity

by Prince_Jett



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, I don't know how tags work, M/M, Minor Violence, One Shot, Song Parody, There isn't enough of these two boys so I gUESS I'M DOING IT MYSELF NOW, Who let me write I haven't even written it yet and I know its shit, ooc characters probably, song is Clarity by Zedd, this is a thing I'm doing I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 13:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11128137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prince_Jett/pseuds/Prince_Jett
Summary: The Vagabond has feelings. He isn't sure if he should be concerned or not.





	Clarity

**Author's Note:**

> This is a (loose) songfic featuring the fahc crew.............. mostly Ryan and Michael......... To Clarity by Zedd...... Yeah I'm not used to writing anymore, I hope this isn't terrible. Thanks for taking the time to read this!

It was terrifying to him, really. That first realization that he cared about them, that seeing them in danger scared him, that seeing them hurt broke his heart in ways he hadn't realized could still be broken. That was just the start, too. Something he could ignore, something he could lie to himself about. It got harder with him, though. 

Michael was a lot of things. He was loud, explosive, quick to anger, an unstoppable force, terrifying at times, even to him. On the other hand, though, he was funny, he had a laugh that could fill a room, he could yell while holding so much affection it could overwhelm someone, soft words like melodies. Michael was an adventure in himself, the smell of gunpowder and flames, a bear of a man who seemed to take bullet after bullet without flinching. Every expression was unique, curly hair as untamed as he was, eyes burning like the fire that fed his voice. He could take someone's breath away, both figuratively, and literally. 

And god, had he taken Ryan's.

The first time, Ryan was beside him. He could easily say he hadn't noticed the man to the side with the gun, hadn't intended to step between him and Michael. Michael had given him an odd look on the way back to the penthouse, though. It was a bullet to the shoulder, nothing terrible, certainly not the worst either of them had had, nor the worst they would have in the future. They all laughed it off, joking about how he was losing his touch if he hadn't noticed the man directly in front of him. Ryan almost wished he was.

The second time wasn't as easy. Ryan was perched on a roof, beside Jeremy, as the two sniped and kept eyes on their team. Jeremy was dealing with some guys on the ground when Ryan noticed the shift on the building beside them, the sniper creeping towards the edge and taking aim. A few things happened very fast. Ryan yelled Michael's name so hard into their mics that the air was punched out of him painfully. He neglected to use his scope, aiming his own sniper recklessly, with only instinct. Two shots rang out. Through the corner of his eye, he saw Michael turn. 

The bullet had lodged in Michael's shoulder, dangerously close to his heart. When Ryan visited him, new stitches holding together another future scar, he was met with a surprisingly soft thanks. A mumbled, confused tone, accompanied by averted brown eyes. Ryan wasn't sure if he should laugh, or cry.

The final time was unmistakable. They were nowhere near each other, Michael was rinsing through the police in front of him without an issue, throwing taunts at them like he was born to do it. Ryan had been flanking with Jeremy. If he was being honest, he really didn't know he got to where he was. One second he was with Jeremy, watching cops get out of a car behind Michael, and in the next he was back to back with him, being peppered with bullets as he vaguely heard his name shouted through the sudden darkness bearing down on him.

When Ryan woke up, he wasn't sure if he should be more startled by the lack of pain, or the sudden yelling. He had been wearing a bulletproof vest, and while it didn't protect his arms or legs it had saved his life. 15 bullets had pierced him, 15 to-be scars he vaguely registered Michael yelling at him about. Something about how he was an idiot, he could have been killed, how he could have handled it on his own. That time Ryan couldn't help the weak laughter. That time he stopped laughing, as he noticed the fear in Michael's eyes, even still. As he noticed the tears. That time he apologized.

They fell into line. An unspoken rhythm. It didn't have to be questioned, not by them. Ryan watched Michael's back, and Michael watched his. Ryan figured he'd feel better that way. To his dismay, he only seemed to grow more worried. A magnetic pull, growing stronger as it's moved closer to the other. Sometimes Ryan felt like he was drowning in those brown eyes. Other times, he would drown in his arms. Late at night, after a particularly rough heist, one would find the other, and for a while it would be nothing but warm bodies pressed close to each other. They didn't talk much, reveling in silent communication through each soft touch, the gentle pressure of arms around each other with one bowed head resting on a shoulder, one hand carding through the others' hair. They'd return to their respective rooms, reassured that the other was okay.

The others might have known. Maybe they didn't. Nobody talked about it if they did, but they didn't have to anyways. After all, everyone in the crew needed someone once in a while, big shot criminals or not. Relationships were always a bad idea, though. Getting attached to people, doing what they did. They knew that. The walls they built around themselves like harnesses to keep them from falling were there for a reason. They weren't easy to get past, and the further within the walls one got the more dangerous it got. They could lose a member of the crew at any time; to a kidnapping, a gunfight, a heist gone wrong, even to themselves. Perhaps that game was more dangerous than the ones they were already playing. Ryan knew that, maybe better than anyone. He had loved and lost before, a scar deep in his heart that he swore on he'd never let himself go through it again. That he wouldn't love again. Michael was a lot of things, though, and all of them were hard to ignore.

They marched down the hallway, shoulder to shoulder, shotguns drawn and at the ready. The metal was already splattered with red from close shots, the sharp tang of iron bleeding through the dark skull mask on Ryan's face as the ship shifted beneath them. It was almost a shame really, crashing the party and killing some party goers. A job was a job, though, and there wasn't much room to feel bad when there were bullets peppering the both of them from around a corner. They left a red trail in their wake, as they took what they had come for, Michael easily confirming they were finished into his mic as Ryan slipped the final bag into his partners backpack. Jack would be there in five, after picking up Gavin and Jeremy from the second ship, if the police helicopters hadn't left yet. Ryan had been confirming their ship was sniper free when Michael switched off his mic and then grabbed Ryan's, pulling it off with one hand as the other removed the mask hiding his painted face. Both were forgotten for a moment, tossed to the desk behind them as Michael's hands moved to fist into Ryan's outer shirt, dragging the taller man towards him with barely restricted force. As the heavy whirring of the approaching helicopter resounded above, quick attempts to rub the smeared paint from Michael's face was met with soft laughter, stupid grins, before Ryan allowed the mask to be returned to his face. It had become a running theme, as dangerous as it was making out in hostile territory. It was rare they weren't in a dangerous situation, though.

Ryan tried to leave one time, after a badly failed heist. Michael had been hurt, badly, and Ryan had never been so afraid in his life. He panicked, arms shaking violently as he stuffed his things into a bag, his eyes stinging as he rushed about silently. Reopended scars deep inside him burned with red hot pain like liquid fire, his lungs squeezing out the air within faster than he could take it in. Deep set anxiety that threw him into autopilot, a rerun of an incident long ago that shaped dreams into nightmares and bred fear and anguish into the heart of one of the most feared men in the country. Fear that made a 'fearless' man tuck tail and run like the coward version of himself that he had buried without hesitation. Autopilot doesn't run unplugged, though, and when the front door to the penthouse was slammed shut by a bandaged hand he felt himself flounder. The untrained eye would think Michael was furious, the lad practically leaning on the wall to hold himself up as he yelled into Ryan's face as a weak gripped, shaky hand held to his shirt. Ryan wasn't untrained, though. He couldn't pretend not to hear the difference between the pain of moving and the pain in his heart as he yelled, couldn't pretend he didn't see the fear in the tear filled brown pools of Michael's eyes, couldn't pretend there was nothing he wanted more than to wrap him up in his arms and apologize, take away all of his pain and keep him safe. Perhaps Michael was the shocked one, when The Vagabond fell into his arms like something broken, holding him so close yet so gently as warm tears stained the bandages wound tightly across his torso. Whispered apologies repeatedly like the chorus of a song.

Michael's wounds would heal, they would leave scars already layered on scars, which in turn would gain scars on top of them in time. The same went for Ryan. They'd keep fighting, just like they always had. They had a little extra to fight for, though, and one was always around to back the other up. Ryan swore he'd never love again, that he wouldn't risk losing again. Michael was a lot of things, though, and he was something Ryan wasn't going to lose. Not while Ryan could aim a gun.


End file.
